


Worship

by afterandalasia



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Age Difference Kink, Body Worship, Community: disney_kink, Consensual, F/M, Mild Femdom, Power Dynamics, Smutlet, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hates him, of course; how can she not? But she desires him also, and cannot help but appreciate her power over him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> From the [anon prompt](http://disney-kink.livejournal.com/4400.html?thread=3802672) at Disney Kink.

He is a demon. A fiend in human flesh, with the power of the city at the click of his fingers. He is twice, three times her age; he owned this city when her mother was a child. She is eighteen years old and has the eyes of every man in Paris following her when she walks the streets or dances in the squares.  
  
He worships at the altar of her cunt with an abandon that belies his age. His tongue dances across her flesh, fingers spreading her delicately open to him, and she wraps her thighs around his ears and watches the way that his silver hair glitters in the candlelight. The look of wonder in his eyes, the way that he had so willingly fallen to his knees before her, makes her wonder how long it had been since he had fucked a woman. Perhaps she had been a child when last he tasted a woman's cunt; perhaps she had not been born at all. The thought makes her dig her heels into his shoulderblades even as he thrusts his tongue deeper into her.  
  
Her hands grip the edge of the table as his tongue flicks at her clit. Such a skill is surprising in a man of the cloth, but she supposes that at some point in his history he must have learnt this. Perhaps, like she now does, he had indulged in this as a way of avoiding getting a child in a woman's belly. Then slender fingers are slipping into her, buried to his knuckles, and she can feel him suckling at the wet taste of her arousal.  
  
"Get on the table," she says, and he looks up with his lips shining with her. He crawls onto the table to join her, his skin pale against her rich colour, thin and faded against her soft roundness, and she rolls him onto his back to straddle him.  
  
"Do you know this, judge?" she says, voice husky. His eyes glitter.  
  
"I have seen the whores and strumpets of Paris, gypsy. What is there now that you could surprise me with?"  
  
It is like a challenge, and with a triumphant toss of her hair she arches her back, massaging her breasts with her own hands and toying with the flushed dark skin of her nipples. Frollo's eyes grow darker with arousal, his manhood stirring against her thigh as she runs one hand down between her thighs.  
  
"Have you seen any like this?"  
  
"No," he breathed.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
His hands stroke up and down her thighs, squeezing lightly, as if he is too awed to raise his hands further.  
  
"I have seen the painted mistresses of the King," he says, whispered pleas, "and they are nothing to your beauty. I have seen the whores of the Truands and they fade beside you; all of the princesses of Egypt are peasants at your feet."  
  
She stretches her hands above her head, arching her back and pressing her breasts forward. Frollo gives a moan beneath her and, aching need in her core, she shifts to take him into her. Her tight heat wraps around him and for a moment he cannot speak, eyes fluttering closed, then as she rolls her hips he continues in half a whimper.  
  
"The greatest womanizers of Paris have never seen the like of your beauty, Esmeralda, oh!, Esmeralda..."  
  
"Tell me, judge," she asks him, each movement of her hips dipping him deeper into his delight, "when did you last love a woman?"  
  
"Never," he replies, and the power that she feels makes her feel as if she is on fire. "Never has there been a woman like you, Esmeralda."  
  
Her name confounds his tongue, and she bends to kiss it from his lips. The discovery that she can do this to men, that was one thing; that _only_ she can do this to this man... that is quite another.  
  
She wraps him in her thighs and surrounds him in her, to hear him cry her name at his climax. Frollo may hold all of Paris in his hand, but she holds him in turn, and that thought is enough to tip her over the edge and into glory.


End file.
